


Install Me a Better Memory

by Goldie



Category: Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: But only sorta kinda, Confederacy, Established Relationship, Fanmade Mexico alert, Future, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Mexico is SO NOT CANON, Nations have psychic powers, because I can do that, okay stop playing with tags I'm so done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldie/pseuds/Goldie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moved from Fanfiction.net! Russia remembers things he wishes he didn't, and America comes to help him install some better memories. Then, they realize that a lot of their memories are the same. Takes place in about 2020 or so, slightly (ok very) AU. Inspired by VandettA Cosplay's CMV 'Uninstall"(I liked the idea they presented), and all historical inaccuracies are 100% on purpose!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Russia stared out of his window, watching as snow fell to the already snow-covered ground. His solid stance and stone-still face didn't betray the slightest hint of his true emotions, but the raging inner turmoil that the tall Northern country was experiencing burned deep within his violet eyes. His left hand gripped the deep red velvet curtain, holding it away from the window. Russia's every muscle was controlled, held in check with the type of control a country could only attain after thousands of years of experience.

Outside the window, in the snow, a menacing form larger even than Russia's 182 centimeters of height hovered. It floated in a flurry of snow, and Russia betrayed the slightest hint of a frown. Then, the tall, silver-blonde haired country turned from the window, dropped the curtain and turned up the heater temperature.

"взрыв генеральный Зима...*"

General Winter had arrived. And Russia wasn't pleased. He dropped his stone-cold expression, a tired frown appearing on his face. A furrow deepened between his brows, and for once, Russia was glad he was alone. He knew that he looked old. Old, tired. Worn out. He was over 3,000 years old, and it showed. Not in his face, no. His face would never look older than perhaps twenty at the most, but his eyes spoke of the depth of despair that was his history.

Mongolia and his Golden Horde. The rise of the Tsars, and their fall. Bloody Sunday, which he was caught in. The final, crushing proof of his sweet Anastasia's death.

There was more. An invasion by Japan, General Winter's constant barrage of wind and ice and snow. The Cold War against America. Russia was old, and far more weathered that even China could be. China's history was nothing to Russia's if measured in the sheer magnitude of spilt blood. He and America-his sweet, lovely America-had delivered bleeding injuries to each other on more than one occasion during the Cold War.

_"Commie bastard!"_

_"Capitalist whore!"_

_"Red bitch"_

_"Fat pig!"_

_"Murderer!"_

_"You will not win this, Amerikan scum!"_

Old insults rang in his head, causing him to clap both hands to his temples.

_"You're a nothing, little one. Nothing to me. You should be pleased with your treatment."_

Mongolia's words, thousands of years old, echoed after the Cold War insults. The memory of the whip striking him after that phrase sliced into him, the old scars on his back throbbing with a near-forgotten pain.

"NYET!" Russia's gloved hands curled into his hair. He knew he looked insane, crazed, nearly ripping his hair from his head. He didn't even notice his door open. A soft voice, uncharacteristically cautious, wove its way through his disastrous memories.

"Ivan? Ivan, what is-?"

He had crumpled to his knees when the first snatch of memory hit him. Now strong arms encircled Russia's broad shoulders, black-gloved hands prying larger ones from his hair. His nose was buried in sweet-smelling leather, the voice's lips brushing his hair.

"Ivan...Vanya, you're all right. I'm here, Vanya."

Russia gripped the leather jacket Alfred always wore. "S-sunflower..."

Plump, slightly moist lips brushed against his forehead. "S'okay, Ivan. We'll make them go away, I promise. I do."

"Nnn...nyet...they'll come b-back like always, d-da." He shook violently in his lover's arms, bloody memories splashed across his mind.

"Tell me what you remember, Vanya. I'll help you."

"Nyet, nyet..."

A sigh. "Vanya, you know you have to tell me eventually. I hate seeing you like this."

Russia lifted his tear-stained face, gazing into the eyes of his sweet America. "R-really?"

The arms tightened, and a bright chuckle reached Russia's ears. "Well,  _duh_! You're supposed to be the strong one, and I'm not the dominant one in this relationship. I wouldn't be here right now if I didn't love you."

Ivan smiled then, stealing a quick kiss. "Da, you are right. I-I guess I'll start with Mongolia..."

Alfred smiled. "Okay, but you need to get warmer first."

Russia found himself being led to a nearby couch, a blanket wrapped around the two of them, and the golden warmth of his America snuggling his way into Russia's chest. A single piece of golden hair, flipped upward, tickled Russia's nose momentarily before Alfred settled his head under Ivan's chin.

"Start from the beginning, Vanya."

 


	2. Chapter 2

"It started on December Twelfth in the year 1237. Mongolia-and his Golden Horde army-were unstoppable. This was back when my sisters and I still lived together. Belarus was just a baby, and I was physically only about ten. Ukraine was the eldest and, collectively, we were were called the Rus', da. Mongolia invaded Europe starting from somewhere near my modern city of Vladivostok. He was smart enough to do so during a very dry year, when General Winter was asleep and I could not call him."

"Dude, that was a long time ago...Where was I?"

Ivan frowned. "I do not know. I was occupied with myself and most likely you were not yet born."

"Oh right, I wasn't born until the 1500's. Keep going."

"Anyway, he invaded and I was too young to be able to defend myself. I had always relied on General Winter before, but Mongolia's Golden Horde moved so fast I didn't have time for them to be caught by him. They found my sisters and I hiding in a forest. Mongolia sent my sisters to new homes under his top two commanders, giving them the names Belarus and Ukraine. He added the -sia to my name to make me no longer Rus', but Russia."

"I never knew that. I just thought you were always called Russia."

"Nyet, at one time I was Kievan Rus', at another just Rus', and then Russia, Imperial Russia, the USSR and now the Russian Federation. But that is not important to the story..."

"Sorry."

Ivan cleared his throat. He was about to speak of things no one else had heard from him, and he was about to speak them to a country he had once considered is worst enemy. Still, the sight of Alfred's sun-bright smile and the feel of his warm body heating Ivan's own helped the still-shaken power regain his nerve. He paused to bury his nose in Alfred's hair, smiling at the sweet scent of roses.

"After Mongolia separated me from my sisters, the first thing he did after taking me back to his house was to go conquer Poland and Hungary. One thing he did do right was fend of Prussia and his Teutonic Knights, which were actually a far greater danger to me since I was so young."

Ivan sighed and ran a hand idly through Alfred's hair. "He took care of me fairly well at his house, and let me keep my religion, industry and language, but when I did things wrong, he would punish me and, in those days, the most mild punishment for me was often a whipping."

Alfred looked unimpressed, but he kept his voice gentle in deference to his obviously-shaken lover. "When I did something bad, England would use a whip. It was common."

"Da," said Ivan, quirking one eyebrow upward. "But Mongolia used it for such things as a dropped dish or a stained shirt. More often, he would use a whip when a scolding would have worked just as well. He may have been relatively kind as invaders go, but he was still a cruel master."

Alfred shivered as Ivan's voice lost its habitual kiddy tone, deepening and roughening in both the way that sent pleasant shivers up Alfred's spine, and the way that sent unpleasant ones  _down_ it.

"Often," Ivan growled, "He would punish me for a failed crop by having me  _service_ "-and here Ivan's eyes narrowed to violet slits- "his  _entire army._ "

A fire burned deep in Ivan's eyes, an angry, blackened violet fire that burned anew after centuries as mere purple embers. "My throat would be sore for  _days_ on  _end_ after he let me stop. Sometimes it was so bad that I couldn't even speak."

Alfred, for once, kept silent, deep blue eyes wide with horror. He'd never heard something like  _that_  from Ivan, though it certainly explained why the Slav hated to do... _that_  to Alfred. He made a mental note to remember to never ask Ivan for a blowjob again.

Ivan continued, the fire burning so bright in his eyes that a haze of violet appeared to glow around him. "I  _cannot_  describe how  _much_ I hated Mongolia at those times, Alfredka. That wasn't even his worst punishment. I was a slow-growing country, and after about 200 years under Mongolia's rule, I had only grown to the physical stature of a fifteen-year-old. Mongolia was sick of it, so he waited until another season of crops failed. Then, he took me into his office, locked the door, and-"

Alfred clapped a hand over Ivan's mouth. He didn't want to hear that at all, but Ivan just yanked America's hand away (after a bit of effort).

"You told me you would listen, da?"

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, I just...I hadn't expected anything that...awful...to have happened to you, dude." He winced the second the familiar slang left his mouth.  _Shit._ He knew Ivan wasn't a fan of being called 'dude', but sometimes it just slipped out.

Luckily for Alfred, Ivan was (unfortunately for him) too absorbed into his memories to notice. "Well, I suppose you can guess what he did, da?"

"It's why you never let me top, right?"

"Da." Ivan went momentarily silent. Then, a quick intake of breath. "It was the most painful, awful experience of my life. He didn't even try to make me happy. He seemed to take his pleasure from my screams of pain, my agonized moans and endless tears. Eventually, I couldn't hande the pain. I blacked out, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in my own bed, so sore that it would be nearly three days before I left my bed on my own."

"Mongolia spilled far too much of my blood. He couldn't keep himself away after that, either. He kept coming back for more."

Ivan's hand, the one that wasn't tangled in Alfred's hair, reached up to clutch the tri-barred golden cross he wore under his coat. "I still am not sure how I survived."

Alfred snuggled closer to Ivan and kissed his chin. "However you did it, I'm glad you did."

They shared a kiss before Ivan continued his tale.

 


End file.
